I am a lucky poet who gets to live on the Door County Wisconsin peninsula. I love trees, dachshunds, making music, and I make a mean red beans and rice. My poems have appeared in Earth's Daughters; Lilipoh; and Verse Wisconsin, among others, as well as a variety of anthologies. My poems and photos may be found at my website Mimi's Golightly Cafe.

​Hot Mustard

so he says he forgotwhat he came in the kitchen forbecause he was distractedby me chopping carrotsin my old Mad Italian sweatshirtand Buffalo Plaid pantshair in pigtails — no fashionista

though coming out of surgerywas not my best moment eitherwhen he sat by my bedkindly assuring me that the tiny men swinging abouton long ropes outside my windowweren't exactly there​but today he is taken by the sunlighton my hands slicing carrotsand I am happyI can still make him forget things best unrememberedand the hot mustardhe came in the kitchen for

Stop the Clock

The door groans openand in they totter— he on bent, wobbly legs,she cautious, in a red blouse,her hair like April snowflying in every direction at once.

He announces we're here for Violet's blood pressureand the receptionist smiles,everyone smiles, even me, who's grumpily waiting for yet another remedyon how to patch up aging bones.